


Desperate Desires & Unadmirable Plans

by epeolatry



Series: Sexual Revolution [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cocaine, Come Marking, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dubcon Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Heterosexual Sex, High Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Dysfunction, Threesome - F/M/M, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras matters and Grantaire smokes too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Desires & Unadmirable Plans

Over the next few weeks the two disparate groups found themselves amalgamating more and more. This was mainly thanks to the unlikely entanglement between Jehan and Montparnasse, but was in no way inhibited by Éponine’s rekindled childhood crush on Marius (an old neighbour whom she’d lost contact with when her parents had kicked her out at sixteen) and Grantaire’s hopeless and widely known fixation on Enjolras.

 

Musichetta and Bossuet had both been orbiting between the two groups for years – she in her capacity as Joly’s childhood friend, and he as an ex law student and friend of Marius’ – and they were thrilled that they no longer had to divide their time between friends. The flatmates (and on-off sex buddies) seemed to be hatching some sort of conspiracy against Joly, who was now often to be found with his head in Musichetta’s lap while Bossuet alternated between rubbing her shoulders and stroking the medical student’s hair…

 

Feuilly was showing a hitherto unsuspected flair for European political debate, and was often the subject of jealous looks from Grantaire as the ginger bearded tradesman struck up heated conversations with Enjolras about the state of the EU, its place in the international community, and the failure of its historical precedents.

 

It was thanks to this newfound camaraderie between two such incongruent groups that Grantaire received his first invitation to a student party (not that a lack of an invitation had ever stopped him from attending them before).

 

It was a Thursday night at the rundown flat. Éponine had a night off from the club and Grantaire had managed to scrape together a bit of money of his own that week by selling sketches of the city skyline to rich tourists. The pair were celebrating loudly with cheap wine as Montparnasse slept in their shared bedroom. He had knocked on their door four hours previously with a fug of marijuana smoke around him and a jittery conviction that his own flat was under police surveillance and might never be safe again.

 

Just as Éponine was gigglingly opening the third bottle of the evening, Grantaire’s phone beeped with an incoming text message. He wrenched it gracelessly from the pocket of his too-tight jeans and blearily read a message from Musichetta.

 

CHETTA

Alright R? You and Ép are coming

to the party tomorrow right? Should

be fun, Cosette’s place is a mansion xx

 

Then a second later another beep announced a post-script to the first text:

 

CHETTA

PS – I’m bringing the booze xx

 

Grantaire read both texts aloud to Éponine then said, “So we’re going right?”

 

Éponine looked torn; there was a bit of one-sided tension between her and Cosette, Marius’ beautiful and beloved girlfriend, but then again there was rarely a party held anywhere in the city that she didn’t appear at…

 

“Come on,” wheedled Grantaire, “Marius might get drunk enough to play spin the bottle with you!”

 

Éponine huffed, “And maybe Enjolras will finally realise that you’re only doing that free design work to get into his pants!”

 

“A man can dream,” Grantaire grinned, and Éponine couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“We’re lost causes aren’t we?” she sighed.

 

“Yep. So let’s go to this party, get wasted on ‘Chetta’s good booze, cause a scene, then come home and cry ourselves to sleep in each other’s arms.”

 

“How pathetic. Sounds like fun.”

 

“What sounds like fun?” came a gravelly voice.

 

“You feeling alright ‘Parnasse?” Éponine sniggered, as the dandy emerged from the hallway looking distinctly worse for wear. His usually well-coiffed hair was hanging in black threads around his sallow face, his voice was hoarse, and the creases in his clothing mirrored the bags under his dark eyes.

 

“I’m fine, just greened out. Happens to the best of us,” he shrugged, helping himself to a beer from the ice-filled cool box that had replaced their broken fridge months before, “What fun are we having tonight then?”

 

“Tomorrow night,” corrected Grantaire, “House party at Cosette’s dad’s house. ‘Chetta’s brining the booze and apparently the place is a bona fide mansion.”

 

Grantaire knew that Montparnasse’s nimble fingers couldn’t resist the allure of a posh house.

 

“Sounds swell, I’m there,” he agreed, drinking and texting on his almost-certainly-stolen iphone as he did so. A moment later the device vibrated and a smile curled his cracked lips as he added, “And so’s Jehan. I’ll get us some gear sorted if you two chip in.”

 

**

 

As Grantaire followed Bahorel’s bulk down the hallway crowded with gyrating students, he found himself suddenly and unexpectedly being kissed by a person unknown, their lips sloppily pressing half onto his mouth and half onto his stubbled cheek as he stumbled blindly back into a wall of partygoers in surprise at the sudden encounter.

 

Pulling away with more than a little indignation, Grantaire immediately softened at the sight of Éponine, laughing merrily with her pupils blown wide.

 

_Typical_.

She was always like this when she was high; horny and extravagant with her affections. She had one arm slung around Jehan’s slim waist and the other grasping firmly to Montparnasse’s belt as he pulled his two blissful acolytes through the crowd. The poet was giggling softly, clearly stoned already but not coked up like Éponine and Montparnasse, both of whose movements were as restless and jerky as Jehan’s were dreamy and slow. Montparnasse’s strong jaw was working ceaselessly and his pupils were even wider than Éponine’s, giving his normally dark eyes an almost ethereal look of drugged lust.

 

“Have fun, Ép,” Grantaire whispered cheekily as she laughed and kissed him again, briefly this time, and on the cheek. He knew she would be safe and well looked after by Montparnasse and Jehan, and so he left in search of his own fun. What the artist didn’t notice was Enjolras’ look from across the crowded hallway, a look that widened at the sight of Éponine’s lips crushing sloppily against Grantaire’s then immediately turned away, the usually cool gaze hot.

 

Grantaire was almost jealous of Éponine’s luck; Montparnasse was an incredibly good-looking guy who always knew exactly what he wanted and how to go about getting it; he also had legendarily nimble fingers. Jehan was a pretty little thing as well, with his sandy-blonde hair and freckled nose, and he was rumoured to be just as generous in bed as he was in every other aspect of his life…

 

The warm arousal that began to coil in Grantaire’s stomach as he imagined the threesome that would soon be taking place was quickly replaced by a stab of guilt as he caught sight of Enjolras across the room in earnest conversation with Combeferre. This was followed by an almost nauseating surge of self-disgust.

 

Having been separated from Bahorel in the throng of party people, Grantaire made his way to the nearest exit and lit up a lonely cigarette in the garden.

 

**

 

As soon as the intoxicated trio managed to find an unoccupied bedroom in the multi-storey mansion, Montparnasse detached Éponine’s grasping fingers from his belt, locked the door, and proceeded to the nearest table to start racking up lines with the singular determination of a cokehead.

 

Éponine leaned back against the closed door, clutching Jehan closer to herself as if to compensate for the loss of Montparnasse, her restless fingers writhing in the soft, sandy curls of the literature student as her wide, bright eyes darted around the half-lit room.

 

Jehan leaned into her touch, his eyes closed as he emitted small, happy whimpering noises and occasionally planted chaste kisses on Éponine’s throat and shoulder. Montparnasse meanwhile had greedily huffed up two long lines of coke in quick succession and was now taking shuddery breaths. He had left one smaller line and the half-full baggie on the table, and as he approached the entwined pair he gently prised Éponine from his boyfriend and pushed her in the direction of the powder. Éponine went willingly enough, her jaw clenched in a frozen grin.

 

Jehan blearily opened his red-rimmed eyes at the loss of her touch and saw Montparnasse looming over him, eyes as dark as the poet’s were bloodshot. The dandy grinned wolfishly, his huge pupils appearing at once lustful and nightmarish, before he roughly dragged one hand through Jehan’s fair hair and shoved the smaller boy back against the wall, holding him there with his own lithe body.

 

Before the stoned student’s mind had time to process the movement, Montparnasse was taking his lips in a searing, bruising kiss, more teeth than tenderness, more possessiveness than passion. Jehan submitted gladly, always happy to allow Montparnasse to take whatever pleasure he wanted, and he heard himself groaning hoarsely as the older boy roughly pinned his wrists above his head with one strong hand, the other still knotted in his hair with painful, controlling tightness.

 

Suddenly the hot pressure of Montparnasse’s body against his own eased, and Jehan again heard himself make a high pitched keening noise as Montparnasse’s possessive mouth left his, dragging at the poet’s lower lip with his teeth before releasing him entirely.

 

The reason for Montparnasse’s withdrawal quickly became apparent when Jehan opened his smoke-reddened eyes and saw Éponine looking dishevelled and smiling slyly as she rested one hand lightly on Montparnasse’s hip and leaned in slowly to kiss and nip down Jehan’s throat. As the moaning student tried to clear his mind enough to consider this new development, Montparnasse kept him pinioned against the wall, the taller boy almost panting from the heady cocktail of arousal and narcotics.

 

**

 

Grantaire felt better sitting in the garden, the warm summer air relieved by a light breeze that ruffled his unruly curls as the pounding house music from inside drifted, diluted, through the night. He was just flicking the butt of his second cigarette into a nearby water feature when a noise behind him alerted the daydreaming artist to another presence on the manicured lawns.

 

“You shouldn’t smoke so much,” said Enjolras’ voice, and Grantaire turned to see the law student gazing down at him as though he’d been conjured by Grantaire’s thoughts alone, his golden hair brushed with silver in the moonlight. He was wearing a fitted red, white, and black checked shirt and his long legs were flattered by black skinny jeans. On his feet were practical military-style boots. Best of all he was holding two beers, one of which he offered to Grantaire.

 

“Thanks,” said Grantaire as he lit up another smoke with a grin at Enjolras’ raised eyebrow.

 

“What are you doing alone out here anyway?” the law student asked, keeping the phrase, ‘ _Why aren’t you with your girlfriend?_ ’ hanging on the tip of his tongue.

 

Grantaire shrugged, “Don’t like house music,” and he exhaled a lungful of smoke and took a swig from his beer.

 

“Me neither,” admitted Enjolras as he seated himself beside the artist on the grass and took a much more restrained sip from his own bottle.

 

“So you’re not a get-drunk-and-dance kind of guy then?” asked Grantaire with an expression of mock surprise.

 

“A world of no!” laughed Enjolras, “To be honest, house parties in general aren’t really my scene… I’m not good with crowds.”

 

It was Grantaire’s turn to raise an eyebrow as he asked slowly, “ _You’re_ not good with crowds?” This coming from the man who never hesitated to get up on his soapbox in front of any number of people, the man who frequently harangued passersby about their political leanings, the man who could be found balancing on table tops in bars more often than Éponine, _who was paid to_.

 

“Okay,” Enjolras smiled self-deprecatingly, “I’m not good with sweaty, drunken, gyrating crowds.”

 

Grantaire laughed, “Then why are you here?”

 

Enjolras caught Grantaire’s eye as the artist spoke, and the silence that passed for a moment was at once electrifying and terrifying. Clear blue eyes broke the gaze first and murmured, “For my friends.”

 

Grantaire was already drunk enough to easily convince himself that whatever he thought he had seen in those infinite seconds of eye contact – the serious look in Enjolras’ eyes, the weight of something unsaid teetering at the precipice of revelation – it was nothing. Imagination. Wishful thinking. And he knew from long experience that eventually his heart would pay for the foolishness of his mind, so he raised the bottle to his lips again and took a deep draught of beer.

 

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Grantaire finishing his drink first and dragging slowly on his cigarette instead as the music and screams of laughter from the party drifted out to them on the summer breeze.

 

Finally Enjolras asked, “Are you still willing to do some design work for me?”

 

“For you?” Grantaire asked with a mocking grin, behind which hid his heart beating in double time, “ _Anything_.”

 

“Us. I meant for us, the group,” amended Enjolras.

 

“Ah _oui_ , Les Amis d’ABC!”

 

Grantaire had laughed at the pretentiousness and the bad punning the first time he had heard the title of Enjolras’ band of student revolutionaries, but privately he quite liked the wit behind it, and suspected French-speaking Jehan with his literary flair had originated it.

 

The artist was fond of bold, effeminate Jehan, as he was fond of all his newfound university friends, though not in the same fierce, painful way that he was fond of the impossibly handsome law student now looking questioningly at him with clear blue eyes – eyes much clearer than Grantaire’s own murky, smoke-reddened eyes had ever been, eyes that betrayed no purple-grey hint of the late nights and early mornings that they endured, eyes like -

 

“Grantaire, are you ok? How much have you had to drink?”

 

“Yes!” cried Grantaire, jerking out of his fantasy of mixing the perfect colour paint for those cruelly perceptive blue eyes.

 

“What?”

 

“Yes. Design work, I’m on it. What sort of thing are you after?”

 

“Oh, um…” Enjolras still looked suspicious of Grantaire’s level of inebriation, but he explained, “What we badly need right now is something eye-catching, something that can be put up around the campus – or even the whole city – images to grab attention, draw people in, make them think, make them want to create change.”

 

“So poster design, yeah?” clarified Grantaire, “What kind of images are we talking about?”

 

“Something shocking.”

 

Grantaire grinned, “Shocking I can work with. Give me some more specifics – Animal rights? Votes for women? Save the rainforest? Gay marriage? What about all four - the enfranchisement of gay, forest-dwelling animals?”

 

Enjolras scowled at Grantaire’s flippancy.

 

“Actually at the moment we’re working to expose police brutality, and police corruption as a wider issue. You should see what they get away with at some protests, it’s fucking disgusting- ”

 

It was the first time Grantaire had ever heard Enjolras swear, and the effect was almost visceral, like hearing a curse word for the first time as very young child and somehow instinctively feeling the power behind the taboo. When Enjolras spoke his words had a power and meaning that was lacking in other peoples’ speech, and when he swore it was with an intensity that other people lacked; he didn’t _need_ to swear when he could use ordinary words to such effect…

 

Grantaire caught himself staring again, but luckily Enjolras was still engrossed in his impassioned monologue about police use of unnecessary force against peaceful protesters.

 

“Like what happened to you.”

 

“Sorry, what?” Enjolras seemed momentarily blindsided by Grantaire’s allusion to the recent scuffle with police which had left his otherwise flawless face marred by a small pink scar over his left eyebrow.

 

“Oh,” comprehension dawned, and long, clever fingers ( _scholar’s hands_ , Grantaire thought, _uncallused and soft skinned_ ; Grantaire had never had soft hands and he momentarily wondered what those fingers would feel like wrapped around his cock…) reached up to brush the scar absently for a moment before Enjolras continued imperiously, “Well that doesn’t matter, it’s not me I’m concerned about. In the bigger picture I don’t matter at all, it’s really a question of- ”

 

“You do matter,” blurted Grantaire, then immediately wished for the ground to swallow him up as he blundered on in an attempt to cover up his traitorous, drunken mouth, “I mean, what _happened_ to you matters… Your stance as a victim of police brutality is stronger than… than that of a detached observer. You can use it to your advantage and… and… I dunno, sue for damages?” he finished lamely, staring at the ground.

 

Enjolras was quiet, but when Grantaire looked up there was a gleam in those captivating eyes that spoke of formulating plans and strategies…

 

“So you’ll do it then?” asked Enjolras, turning those shining eyes on Grantaire and unexpectedly clasping one callused hand in his own soft ones.

 

There in the moonlight, with those bright, earnest eyes turned to him, the alcohol singing in his veins, and his hand grasping Enjolras’, Grantaire would have consented to _anything_ – agreeing to visit Enjolras at home one evening later that week was the least he would have done.

 

**

 

Éponine became bolder with her attentions once it was clear both that Montparnasse was permitting her to touch his lover, and that Jehan was consenting to it. Her kisses became fiercer and she sucked a livid red bruise onto the juncture of the poet’s neck and shoulder before bringing her mouth up to his and kissing him sweetly, her tongue sliding over his swollen lower lip to beg entry, which was instantly permitted.

 

Her hot, impatient hands ran beneath his shirt and up and down his bare sides, causing the restrained poet to writhe and gasp around their kiss as his boyfriend looked on with a hungry smirk, criminal fingers intertwined with long scholar’s digits.

 

Éponine was pressed up against Jehan now, her body soft where Montparnasse’s was firm, but the way she was moving against him, groaning and kissing him hungrily, produced the same effect on his body; Jehan was vaguely surprised by this as he had never been with a girl before and the thought of it had barely ever crossed his mind, yet here he was enjoying her caresses and suddenly curious as to how she would feel on top of him, around him…

 

Montparnasse finally released Jehan’s hands from above his head and they flew to Éponine, entwining themselves in her long, dark hair and running experimentally over the unfamiliar curves of her hips and chest, so different from every other body he’d ever touched…

 

Meanwhile the dandy stood back, happy to let his lovers play; he was more turned on by their semi-innocent groping than he was capable of articulating, but the sheer amount of narcotics in his body was playing havoc with his circulatory system and not allowing him an erection, despite the sudden loss of Jehan’s shirt and the little mewling groans of Éponine as the student mapped his way along her body in bites and kisses.

 

Montparnasse retired to the enormous bed, where he lit a cigarette and slouched against the headboard, lazily palming himself through his tight jeans as he watched his boyfriend and his childhood sweetheart devour each other in a drug-fuelled haze of lust and lost co-ordination.

 

“Take off your dress,” whispered Jehan throatily, and Montparnasse was surprised at his little one giving orders so readily.

 

Éponine complied at once and Jehan covered her with caresses, his mouth and hands moving eagerly over her darkly tanned skin as he maintained a breathy running commentary;

 

“I can’t find a word for it… The way your skin feels hot and cold at once when I kiss it… I want to write sonnets across your shoulders… No! Sagas! Epic poems about love and war, and I would cover you in words like… iridescence… ampersand… effervescing… Ohhhh- ”

 

Jehan had dropped to his knees before Éponine to kiss her jutting hip bones, and Éponine had wound one hand in his curls and tugged; Montparnasse knew from experience how much Jehan liked that, and his boyfriend’s appreciative groan sent a bolt of heat into the pit of his stomach. However, he also knew what Éponine liked…

 

“Lick her,” he commanded from the bed, his voice husky with desire. The sudden instruction made both Éponine and Jehan jump; they had been so caught up in themselves that they had almost forgotten he was there with them.

 

Jehan started giggling, “I don’t know how!”

 

“Try,” Éponine encouraged him, eyes dark and intoxicated with lust.

 

Jehan turned wide, red-rimmed eyes on Montparnasse, who nodded once in confirmation. Then the poet carefully lowered his face to Éponine’s crotch, the unfamiliar scent of woman making him pause for a moment. Beginning at the juncture of her closed thighs, he licked a long, slow stripe up the front of her knickers, making the girl sigh and shiver.

 

Jehan looked up quizzically, searching for approval, and when he met Éponine’s dark eyes – pupils dilated – he knew that he must at least be on the right track. As if to reassure him, Éponine wound her fingers tightly into the poet’s fair hair and guided his face gently back to her mound.

 

Jehan repeated his action, a long, sensuous stroke of his tongue along the soft, thin material of Éponine’s knickers, and he inhaled her scent greedily; it was stronger than he was used to but not unpleasant. A lighter smell than Montparnasse’s musk, tinged with soapy florals, and the underlying tang of salt that seemed to be common to both sexes.

 

Éponine tugged gently on his hair, her eyes now closed, but Montparnasse’s eyes were open and he was watching the scene intently, still languidly stroking himself and dragging on a cigarette. These were the only indications that Jehan needed to tell him that he was doing alright.

 

The poet raised a delicate hand, and with one finger he lightly traced along the line his tongue had followed, making Éponine sigh again and shift her thin hips towards him. Emboldened, Jehan pulled the knickers to one side and experimentally dipped the very tip of one digit inside. The intellectual part of his mind was aware that women got wet when they were aroused, but the instinctive, animal part – the part now guiding him – almost recoiled in surprise at the hitherto unprecedented advent of self-lubrication. It was surprising, but not unwelcome, and certainly something to be further explored…

 

The probing fingertip withdrew and held aside the damp, obstructive material as it was replaced by Jehan’s exploratory tongue, stroking gently along Éponine’s wetness with virgin hesitation before plunging inside her.

 

Éponine’s quiet sighs of pleasure became a long, loud groan as Jehan began enthusiastically fucking her with his tongue, learning her taste and shape, burying his face in her hot cunt as he experimented with a medium entirely new to him and almost unbearably stimulating in his intoxicated state.

 

The unconscious noises Jehan was eliciting from Éponine made Montparnasse sit up straighter on the bed, his cigarette carelessly stubbed out on the bedside table and his jeans now unbuttoned as he continued to touch himself.

 

Jehan was getting impatient with the constraints to his curiosity provided by the knickers, and with Éponine’s help he eagerly divested her of the offending material.

 

Éponine was now bracing her back against the wall, her stimulated brain almost overcome by desire. Jehan moved his tongue cautiously to her clitoris, again unsure of exactly what to do, and he experimented with different licks and sucks until her found what made Éponine groan and writhe and twist her fingers tighter in his hair. As he sucked lightly on her clit, flicking his tongue over it every so often to make her almost shriek, he pushed two fingers into her dripping cunt, marvelling at the way her body accommodated the intrusion so easily, so wetly. As he sucked and thrust his fingers in and out of her, Éponine’s breathing grew more ragged and she began to moan out broken instructions;

 

“Yes, oh god, Jehan, _yes!_ Like that, oh fuck, harder! Don’t stop! Oh my god yes, I’m going to- I’m close, I’m- ”

 

“No,” commanded Montparnasse’s rough voice, and Jehan froze as Éponine whimpered needfully and clenched around his buried fingers.

 

“No one’s coming yet,” continued Montparnasse huskily, his complete authority in the bedroom going unquestioned by his dishevelled disciples.

 

“Come here, both of you,” the tone of command sent shivers down both Jehan and Éponine’s spines and they wordlessly obeyed. Without needing further instruction, Éponine shed her bra and Jehan dropped his trousers and kicked off his shoes, both of them arriving at the bed fully naked and more than ready to do whatever Montparnasse asked of them.

 

Montparnasse smirked at the wantonness of his two lovers; Jehan’s fair hair was rumpled where Éponine’s fingers had been tangled in it, and his lips were red and shining with the girl’s juices. Éponine’s tanned skin was flushed with her denied orgasm and her hands were clenching and unclenching ceaselessly, her brown eyes almost black with drugged lust.

 

“Come here,” Montparnasse urged again, and they both crawled up the bed and settled at either side of him, Jehan gazing adoringly at his boyfriend while Éponine absently rubbed herself against his denim clad leg, desperate for her release.

 

“I want to taste her on you, little one,” the dandy growled at Jehan as he fisted a hand in the poet’s sandy hair tightly enough to make the boy whimper with intermingled pain and pleasure. The literature student was pulled into a bruising kiss which he returned eagerly, his cunt-slicked tongue entwining with Montparnasse’s as if to prove that he had followed instructions and been buried in Éponine just a moment before.

 

“Mmm, good boy,” murmured Montparnasse as his other arm wound itself around Éponine’s thin shoulders and pulled her tighter against him so she was all but rutting against his leg, leaving a smear of wetness on his jeans.

 

Montparnasse pulled Éponine’s mouth roughly to his own as Jehan hastily unbuttoned the older boy’s shirt and began trailing open-mouthed kisses from his throat down his smooth, pale chest. Just as Jehan had descended to the level of Montparnasse’s unbuckled belt, the dandy grabbed a fistful of Éponine’s hair and yanked her out of their kiss, barking, “Clean that up!”

 

His sudden harshness made both of his worshippers jump, but Éponine recovered herself first and dived to the stain she had left on his jeans, lathing her tongue across her own juices. Jehan eagerly followed suit once his stoned mind realised what was required of them. Éponine and Jehan’s tongues darted across and around one another, and soon they were doing more kissing than cleaning, grasping desperately at one another as Montparnasse watched, smirking, his jeans finally beginning to animate with the first stirrings of his coke-dampened erection.

 

Gently, he guided the pair back up his body and nudged them towards his crotch; this time it was Jehan who was first to understand and he leapt to drag the jeans from his boyfriend’s hips, though not before Montparnasse had managed to produce a bottle of lube from his pocket and place it in readiness on the bedside table. They were soon all three gloriously naked and entwined, two hot mouths teasing and tonguing at Montparnasse’ stubborn, half-hard cock as he leaned back luxuriously against the headboard and lit another cigarette.

 

Montparnasse was anything but embarrassed by his lack of hardness, having experienced similar dysfunction many times before after his habitual drug binges, and being well aware that the effects were impermanent. He was happy to let his lovers entertain themselves for a while and then if he was able to join in later he would. If not, there was plenty of fun to be had guiding Jehan through his first heterosexual experience, and he would always have the memories to fall back on when his cock was in a more cooperative mood…

 

“Mmm good, that’s good,” Montparnasse wasn’t exactly sure who he was praising, but both of his lovers seemed to take the encouragement to heart, redoubling their oral efforts. Jehan was gently massaging his balls with fingers and tongue, every so often pressing down on his perineum and making his prostate tingle. Éponine was licking languorous strokes up his half-hard cock, then taking the sensitive head into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it as she sucked lightly.

 

They soon had Montparnasse groaning, despite his semi-limpid state. He had one hand fisted in each of his lovers’ hair, cigarette dangling from his lips as each groan released an exhalation of smoke that hung over the scene of debauchery like the pall of a hellfire.

 

Montparnasse’s lack of obvious physical arousal was in stark contrast to Jehan and Éponine, both of whom seemed to be in states of rapturous near-orgasm. Jehan’s cock was heavy and flushed, leaking pre-come obscenely over the pristine sheets of the bed. Éponine’s chest was heaving as she sucked Montparnasse tirelessly, her cunt wet and ready…

 

“Éponine,” called Montparnasse through a haze of smoke and lust, “Would you like Jehan to fuck you?”

 

Éponine was almost trembling with need as she nodded, her huge eyes trained on Montparnasse and her lips still wrapped around his cock.

 

Jehan halted his own attentions to his boyfriend’s cock and gazed curiously at Montparnasse, though his own member twitched eagerly in expectation.

 

“Well go on then my love, _fuck her_ ,” instructed Montparnasse with a filthy smile at his boyfriend. The dandy was well aware that Jehan was used to being on the receiving end of sex, though the student had admitted to topping on a handful of previous occasions with other partners, all of whom had been male.

 

Now Éponine was staring at Jehan, her hand absently having taken over the work that her mouth had left on Montparnasse’s cock.

 

Still smirking, Montparnasse manoeuvred her so that she was straddling him on all fours, her flushed face inches from his as he blew a smoke ring that made her cough and blink confusedly.

 

Jehan moved behind her and rested his delicate hands on her hips. She whimpered, “ _Please_ ,” in a voice that made both boys shiver, and Jehan gave her cunt another experimental lick, his tongue tracing all the way from her clit, across her wet folds, down to the hole that he was most familiar with, making her shudder and groan, her breath hot on Montparnasse’s smiling face.

 

As Jehan continued mapping her with his tongue and hands – sliding first one, then two fingers inside her – Montparnasse withdrew a joint from behind his ear, lit it, inhaled deeply, then pressed his mouth onto Éponine’s and exhaled the intoxicating smoke into her. The girl groaned into his mouth as she swallowed the cloud, and the dandy felt his dormant cock beginning to stir more insistently.

 

Jehan was still teasing Éponine with his fingers, but he was looking at Montparnasse. When the criminal’s dark eyes caught his, the poet all but whimpered, “May I?”

 

“Well?” Montparnasse addressed Éponine, who was panting, her head spinning from the smoke, and she stammered hazily, “ _Pl-please_.”

 

Montparnasse nodded to Jehan.

 

Jehan pushed into Éponine and she gasped aloud and pushed herself back onto him, suddenly animated as she yelped, “Yes! Fuck!”

 

Jehan was almost taken aback by how wet she was, how ready she was; unlubricated sex was new territory for him. But as she shrieked she clenched her muscles around him and he promptly forgot how to think, or do anything other than moan and push himself into her again and again.

 

Montparnasse could feel a definite mounting pressure between his legs now as his cock grew heavy and thick. He began stroking himself as he watched Éponine close her eyes and toss her head like an animal while Jehan thrust in and out of her gasping, his eyes round and wide as if trying to take in every moment of this new experience. But Montparnasse’s little lover needed more than this to reach his climax, and now that his body had caught up with his circumstances, the dandy was well placed to do something about it.

 

Taking one last toke, Montparnasse chipped out the half-finished joint and set it on the bedside table before placing a steadying hand on each of Éponine’s quaking shoulders; the effect was immediate, her reddened eyes shot open wide and her body went rigid. Jehan, even in his state of intense arousal and intoxication, was still naturally sensitive enough to pick up on this sudden shift, and he withdrew himself quickly, thinking that he may have hurt the girl.

 

“What- ” began the stoned poet.

 

“Shh,” interrupted Montparnasse with a finger to his full lips, “We’re just gonna mix things up a little…”

 

Montparnasse’s arousal was now evident, and Éponine obligingly climbed off him, allowing him to get up and manipulate his lovers as he wanted them.

 

“You, here,” he instructed Éponine, lying her down flat on her back with her head at the end of the bed. Her limbs seemed to give way weakly, and she sank down onto the sheets, her long hair splaying darkly across the white linen, her breath short with anticipation. One hand strayed to her clit and began rubbing small circles over it, making herself writhe under Montparnasse’s approving glance, “Good girl, keep that up.”

 

“And you my love, _here_ ,” he positioned Jehan on his hands and knees over Éponine, facing in the opposite direction, the poet’s cock nudging her mouth as she squirmed wantonly beneath them.

 

Montparnasse had considered fucking Éponine himself, but then decided that it would be more fun to make Jehan finish what he had started – the disconcerted look on that sweet, freckled face when presented with a wet cunt was too delicious to ignore. What he refused to admit to himself was that ever since meeting Jehan, the very idea of fucking anyone else – male or female – had been repugnant.

 

“And I get the very best seat in the house,” he purred smugly, kneeling behind Jehan (careful not to hurt Éponine beneath him), and slapping his boyfriend sharply on the arse.

 

“You know what to do,” he encouraged with another sharp smack that made Jehan gasp. The poet leaned down and sank his mouth over Éponine immediately, making her gasp in turn then take his leaking cock into her own mouth without a second’s hesitation.

 

Montparnasse admired his boyfriend for a moment, the young poet bent over in the dandy’s favourite position – hands and knees – with his beautiful body on display; the curve of his spine, the light freckles on his shoulders, the fair, sandy hair perfect for softly stroking and harshly pulling, the slim hips so accommodating to Montparnasse’s nimble, bruising fingers, the tight little ass that begged to be slapped until it was pink-hot, then fucked raw… Montparnasse had never enjoyed a more perfect lover.

 

Once he was satisfied by the urgency of the noises coming from his two lovely fuck toys, Montparnasse began to see to his own needs, flicking the cap off the lube with a practiced motion and slicking the first three fingers of his right hand with the cool gel.

 

With his left hand he struck his whimpering boyfriend’s ass hard once more, then leant down to plant a soothing kiss on the reddening skin, before licking a long, obscene stripe down between the quivering ass cheeks and across his entrance, making Jehan groan loudly as he tongued Éponine’s clit.

 

With a wicked grin, Montparnasse spread Jehan’s ass cheeks with his left hand and teased him with his right, running one wet fingertip around the boy’s hole as Éponine sucked the poet more urgently the closer he pushed her to climax.

 

Finally, after what seemed like eons to Jehan, Montparnasse sank one finger inside the whimpering boy, making him moan so loudly that the vibration his mouth caused around Éponine’s cunt made her yell around his cock. Montparnasse pulled the digit slowly out, then pushed back in a few times, each thrust making Jehan groan wantonly and push back against Montparnasse while Éponine struggled to keep his cock in her mouth.

 

Montparnasse wound his free hand in Jehan’s fair hair and pushed down hard, grinding the boy’s face down into Éponine at the same moment as he pushed a second finger inside him. The muffled yelp from Jehan and the gagged moan from Éponine made Montparnasse’s cock twitch heavily, and he was suddenly impatient to be inside his boyfriend, feel those hot, tight muscles clench around him and leave it dripping with his seed, marked as his own…

 

But he had other plans first.

 

A third finger roughly joined the first two and though Montparnasse knew he must be hurting Jehan a little in his haste, he also knew that the svelte little student liked a bit of rough treatment, and the cant of those slim hips backwards onto Montparnasse’s hand confirmed this.

 

“So fucking tight,” muttered Montparnasse as he stretched Jehan without mercy, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard my love. Do you want that? You want me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk, can’t think about anything but my cock for a week?”

 

“Oh god yes!” gasped Jehan.

 

“No talking!” snapped Montparnasse irritably, slapping Jehan’s ass hard enough to leave a handprint and making the boy yelp again. He dutifully lowered his mouth back to Éponine’s cunt and resumed tonguing her clit as Montparnasse’s fingers stretched and curled inside him, carefully reaching just short of that spot that was bound to make him howl.

 

Finally Montparnasse removed his fingers and Jehan’s body shuddered at the loss – he had felt the familiar heat of climax building inside him as Éponine sucked and Montparnasse fucked him, and being denied his release was almost physically painful. His grievance was forgotten a second later however as he felt Montparnasse’s cock, slick and hard, nudge his entrance teasingly as strong fingers wrapped around his hips.

 

The first thrust was ecstasy.

 

Montparnasse groaned deep in his chest as the tight heat finally grasped him; Jehan shrieked as pleasure and pain exploded through his drugged brain and his body convulsed in confused reaction; Éponine gagged as Jehan unconsciously thrust into her throat, then moaned as his sucking at her clit intensified.

 

“You want me to fuck you?” crooned Montparnasse to his boyfriend, keeping his entire body perfectly still, though buried to the hilt.

 

Jehan nodded breathlessly into Éponine.

 

“Then you must do something for me. I want to hear her scream, you understand? I want you to use that beautiful mouth of yours to make this lovely lady come. I’m not going to fuck you properly until I hear her screaming for me.”

 

Éponine was already close – Jehan’s admirable skills in oral sex were apparently gender transferable – and Montparnasse’s rough words made her shiver. She could feel Jehan’s head being pushed roughly down onto her and the sense of domination thrilled her, both of them submitting wholly to Montparnasse’s whims and trying desperately to get each other off for his sake rather than their own.

 

Jehan’s tongue was flicking her clit and driving her almost to the edge; she was sucking him encouragingly, ignoring the soreness in her jaw and using every trick she knew to drag the poet into ecstasy along with her.

 

Éponine felt her legs begin to tremble, waves of electricity stuttering along every nerve, and with one final flick of his tongue Jehan threw her over the edge, making her yell a string of muffled profanities around the head of his cock, her voice rough from smoke and throat-fucking.

 

Montparnasse guided Jehan’s stuttering hips away from Éponine, allowing her to catch her breath in the aftermath of orgasm. She was floating in a haze of sensation, intoxication, obliteration… She felt the two boys’ weight shift from above her as though it was a shift in the tide of her mind; it was only when a gentle hand brushed a strand of sweaty hair from her face that she came back to herself. Opening her eyes she saw Jehan looking down at her, his mouth wet and his eyes wide. His cock still looked achingly hard and it twitched at her curious touch, making Jehan whimper.

 

“Sit up, darling,” purred Montparnasse darkly from behind Jehan.

 

Éponine rearranged her floating limbs into a sitting position against the headboard; she wanted nothing more than a cigarette and a long sleep. Montparnasse seemed to sense this and nodded to the half-finished joint on the bedside table. Gratefully Éponine took it and lit up with fumbling fingers, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in her lungs.

 

“Feel better?” Montparnasse asked her as Jehan whimpered again. Éponine now saw that the orchestrator of their debauchery still had his cock buried deeply inside the student, and he was pumping very slowly in and out, while his hands locked the boy’s hips in place.

 

“Mmm,” Éponine agreed hazily while exhaling. It was the closest she could manage to proper speech in her current state.

 

“Doesn’t she look happy my love? Now it’s your turn,” Montparnasse whispered in Jehan’s ear without taking his eyes off Éponine, “Your turn to be entirely fucked out.”

 

The words sounded like a threat, and Montparnasse’s hand snaked around Jehan’s throat, squeezing ever so slightly, as he continued, “We’re going to put on a little show…”

 

Jehan nodded, still whimpering desperately under Montparnasse’s tightening grip around his throat.

 

“Ép’s going to watch while I fuck you until you’re screaming my name. I’m going to make you cry, make you beg me to let you come, and you’re not going to be allowed to come until you prove to me that I’m not wasting my time here, that your tight little ass is better than any gash. Because you’re such a good little slut that you could teach _her_ how to take dick, couldn’t you? You take it better than anyone I’ve ever fucked, your sweet little ass just begs for more, begs to be pounded into, to be _ruined_ , and you love it, my filthy little darling, you _love_ _it_ when I fuck you so hard you forget your own name…”

 

“ _Please_ fuck me,” whimpered Jehan hoarsely, looking like he was already on the verge of tears as he desperately clenched around Montparnasse, who refused to budge an inch despite the bolt of heat that his boyfriend’s unabashed wantonness shot to his groin.

 

“Shh,” warned Montparnasse darkly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of the poet’s delicate throat, “If I wanted to you be using that pretty little mouth of yours any more I would tell you. Keep your lips shut, and keep the taste of her on your tongue as she watches me tear you apart…” He bit savagely into the flesh of Jehan’s shoulder as he finished speaking, as though daring the boy to disobey and cry out, but to Jehan’s credit he stayed silent, biting his lip hard as his eyes rolled closed in ecstasy.

 

Montparnasse’s first movement in minutes was an excruciatingly slow slide out followed by a brutal thrust back in that was delivered with so much force that Jehan was thrown forwards onto his hands and knees, his boyfriend’s strong hand still wrapped around his throat.

 

Jehan was gasping, tears leaking from his trusting blue eyes, but Éponine continued to smoke lazily, watching in fascination as the boys screwed themselves senseless. The girl wasn’t concerned by Montparnasse’s roughness, as she knew that that was what the dandy got off on, and judging by the leaking hardness of Jehan’s cock and the way he kept soundlessly mouthing, “ _Please, please, please_ ,” he got off on it too.

 

Montparnasse released Jehan’s throat and instead grabbed a rough fistful of fair hair, yanking the boy’s back into a graceful arch that allowed him to be fucked deeper. He was driving into the boy mercilessly, hips snapping hard and fast as each thrust drew a suppressed gasp or moan from his abused lover. But when Montparnasse finally hit that sweet spot inside him Jehan couldn’t contain his mouth any longer, and he shouted, “’Parnasse, ‘Parnasse, _fuck_! Please ‘Parnasse, please, let me- oh my god!”

 

Montparnasse slowed his pace but kept his strokes deep, doing his best to hit Jehan’s prostate with each thrust, a wicked grin twisting his handsome features at the boy’s gasping praise.

 

“That’s right, sing for me little one,” rasped Montparnasse, his voice ragged and his eyes glittering as he nudged Jehan closer to the edge.

 

“’Parnasse, fuck, yes! Fuck me harder, make me yours!”

 

Éponine impulsively leaned forward without really realising what she was doing and gently blew a plume of smoke into Jehan’s open mouth before pressing her lips against his. He kissed her back hungrily, his tongue glad of the distraction from its incoherent babbling of intermingled curses and praise. Jehan moaned loudly into Éponine’s mouth as Montparnasse wrapped a slick, loose fist around the poet’s throbbing cock.

 

“You’re going to work for this,” growled Montparnasse, as he stilled his thrusting hips, “I want you to fuck yourself on me, show me how much you need this.”

 

Jehan began rocking himself backwards in a jerky, desperate rhythm, impaling himself on Montparnasse’s cock and then sliding forwards to thrust into the man’s fist. His groans grew louder as he built up speed, fucking himself as hard and fast as Montparnasse would, while the man behind him growled low in his chest, drinking in the sight of his boyfriend beneath him working so hard to please.

 

“Come for me, my sweet,” groaned Montparnasse as his cock struck Jehan’s sweet spot and the boy cried out. Montparnasse landed one sharp, open-palmed smack on the poet’s ass and that was enough to push the boy over the edge; he came with a strangled yell, his orgasm rolling through him in intense waves after being delayed so long. Montparnasse fucked him through it, pounding in savagely as the boy cried out, slamming their bodies together until the keening student’s knees buckled and he collapsed onto the bed in a mess of his own spendings, as Éponine peppered his face with light kisses and stroked his sweaty hair off his forehead.

 

Montparnasse pulled out of his panting lover and with two quick tugs he was coming in thick spurts across Jehan’s back, marking the boy as his.

 

With a shaky groan, Montparnasse lowered himself face down onto the bed beside Jehan and sluggishly accepted the kisses showered on him by Éponine, plucking the smouldering joint from her fingers while her mouth was otherwise occupied.

 

Jehan’s eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out; Montparnasse smiled at his dozing boyfriend, a sated, affectionate smile, and sifted gentle fingers through his fair hair. The dandy had a vague thought that he ought to fetch a damp cloth and clean Jehan up a bit, but after two last pulls on the joint he was fast asleep side by side with Jehan, one pale arm thrown over freckled shoulders, and Éponine curled around his other side like a cat, her tanned limbs wreathed around his waist.


End file.
